


when you see a chance to get what you deserve you take it

by GlitterDwarf



Series: How to Heal: After Hours [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Control Issues, Hair-pulling, If I create these tags I am manifesting more life for them, M/M, Mirror Sex, Porn with Feelings, Service switch 4 service switch, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27028351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterDwarf/pseuds/GlitterDwarf
Summary: Ahmed thought, at first, that it was a simple thank you, a token of appreciation. A quick acknowledgment,oh, thank you, this forethought is quite nice.He assumed that the night would end as soft and warm as it had been prior to this, some cuddling in bed and a promise of working anew the next day. The gentle rippling of a creek, solidly, softly bubbling along.But instead, Matt turned into a flood, waters overtaking the riverbanks as his mouth plunged and laid waste to Ahmed’s. He was only too happy to submit, surprised moans breaking through the barrier of their connected mouths to sound desperate in his own ears. And he was, wasn’t he? Desperate, greedy, wanton. If he was a riverbank, he would be only too happy to be decimated, swept away completely by the force of Matt’s affection.
Relationships: Matt Matthew Matthews/Ahmed Omar, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: How to Heal: After Hours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008495
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	when you see a chance to get what you deserve you take it

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This ridiculously self-indulgent piece of fiction is an extra, cut scene from my current IT SMAU, [How to Heal](https://twitter.com/howtohealau). It features characters that were born in my previous SMAU, and then took on a life of their own. I hope that the niche, very dedicated audience this appeals to are happy; here's our first prose piece baybeeeee.
> 
> With a ridiculous amount of love, affection, and THANK YOUUUUU to my sweet love [Madeleine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manycoloureddays) who beta'd this for me. She is a fantastic author herself who has THE BEST??? taste in everything, and who bravely fixed all 48329432 run-on sentences in this bitch. Ahmed has a lot of Words in him, what can I say. If this is good, it's because of her hard work.
> 
> A huge thanks to Bee, Andy and Major who invented this pairing in the first place and breathed beautiful, collective life into them. None of this could have happened without you.
> 
> Finally, a shoutout to the rest of the Mahmed group chat, who collectively keep me working and keep me trying. I still think it's insane that you exist at all, and I am so endlessly, incredibly thankful for it. I LOVE YOU GUYS.
> 
> .....p.s. the title is from "Make It Up" by The Blow

It had been a warm evening, though the city was starting to cool as the crisp autumn air whistled through the cracks in Ahmed’s windows. He felt none of it, however; Matt had come, and when his boyfriend was in his home Ahmed could feel nothing but warmth, the comfort of a thousand heat lamps pressing gently against his skin with every flash of a smile. Matt had arrived at Ahmed’s door grinning sheepishly, leaning into the door jamb adorably and holding up a bag of Indian takeaway from their favorite place a few blocks over. Ahmed couldn’t even begin to imagine why he would feel sheepish or nervous, of course; Matt was welcome at all times, at any times, and should, in fact, never leave at all. Though he didn’t dare say it out loud, of course, in his mind and in his heart the entire loft belonged to Matt already, every square inch.

They ate mutter paneer and kaali daal, bright yellow aloo kurma and shared copious, garlic-heavy naan. Matt split the decadent, syrupy gulaab jamun for the two of them, and they raced to get it in their mouths quick enough, swapping giggles. Ahmed was successful, of course. Matt was not, a few drops of syrup escaped his spoon and splattering attractively against the rough curve of his jaw. Ahmed couldn’t help himself, of course; it was only natural to lean over and clean it up delicately with his fingers. The process of wiping, gently, at Matt’s jawline reminded him so much of the first time they slept together, when Matt had wiped food from Ahmed’s chin, and he had opened his mouth to take the messy fingers in without thought, like a man possessed. The dam, held back so carefully yet precariously through several chaste dates with nothing more than a heated goodnight kiss had broken then, immediately. Since this moment, the frenetic energy they felt around each other had barely abated, and most time spent in each other’s company, while enjoyable, felt like being slowly boiled alive and yet without _any_ motivation to leave the pot. If he must die, he would very much like it to be at Matt’s side, touching.

But tonight, things seemed softer. Quieter, more gentle, with barely a simmer much less their normal, boiling-over heat, spilling out and uncontrollable. Matt simply licked the sticky chashni from Ahmed’s fingers playfully, in an exaggerated motion, making them both laugh. With his fingers around Ahmed’s wrist he made over-loud, comedic slurping noises, even when his mouth wasn’t anywhere near Ahmed’s fingers, until they both collapsed toward each other in helpless giggles. They stayed there, leaning into one another, at the bench table, and then on the velvet couch, Matt’s favorite piece of furniture in the loft. Ahmed’s heart clenched every time he remembered this fact, trying his hardest to make their moments on the couch memorable and enjoyable enough that maybe, just maybe, Matt would be inclined to stay indefinitely. That night he curled his legs over Matt’s lap and they sat perpendicular, Matt’s arms around his shoulders, Ahmed’s face tucked into the strong, muscular curve where Matt’s neck met his shoulders, and they talked. They talked about everything and nothing, the serious and the trivial, the heart breaking and the soul-building. If he had been asked at gunpoint but a moment later to recall any of the topics, he wouldn’t have been able to, all of them floating away like bubbles; none of _that_ was the important part. The important thing was this feeling of deep, abiding tightness, of feeling home in the nearness of one another.

Ahmed had almost forgotten, later, how his strong, aching desire for Matt to live with him didn’t change their actual living situation. They were finally getting ready for bed—a little later than usual, but not as late as many of the nights they'd spent together, when they would only pass out after thoroughly tiring each other out—before he got the shocking reminder, a cold drench of water down his back.

“Ah fuckity shitbuckets, I forgot my bag with all my shit. I don’t have a toothbrush,” Matt groaned as he walked into the room. He sighed dramatically and slapped his palms down on the counter. They stared at one another in the large, opulent mirror, a vintage find from an estate sale. It was a ridiculous piece, yes, but he loved it. This was one of the first pieces he had procured when he first moved to his own place. His mother and older sister had gone with him to the sale, sticking close and murmuring close to one another with hushed, obviously judging as they often did. Ahmed preferred to stroll solo, quietly taking everything in without interruption, letting his gaze lead him to the right item.

He had known when he saw the mirror that there was something special about it. It was large, heavy to be sure, with a thick, gilded frame of scrollwork and fleur-de-lis medallions. His fingers itched immediately to traverse the edges, feel every dip and curve. It was a mirror fit for a king, or, at the least, a king’s consort. Over-the-top, sure, but so was he.

His sister, Fatima, had come out of nowhere then, smacking him behind the head and jumping quickly out of his reach. Ahmed scowled and blinked away the pain, focusing _very hard indeed_ on not letting her get the best of him. She flipped the price tag over and whistled, the sound fading out into a wheezing cackle.

“Damn, akhi, you got mom’s expensive taste, huh?”

“At least I didn’t get her nose,” he bristled, looking pointedly away from her and pretending to be incredibly hyper focused on the smallest fleck in the patina of the mirror. “It’s fine. I don’t need it.”

“Stop being mean to your brother, Fati,” their mom chided, as though they were still children and not grown, too old to still act this way. She took a look at the price tag herself and let out her own wheezing laugh. “She was not kidding, my son. You _did_ get your expensive taste from me.”

“I was just _looking,_ ” Ahmed insisted. “It’s not like I _need_ it.”

“Hm, I disagree. I think you do need it.” Ahmed looked over at Fatima, narrowing his eyes and trying to find the teasing in her voice. Curiously, there was no teasing, no lilt. Just a soft, matter-of-fact grin in her eyes. “You graduated. You got your own place. You got your first big boy job. The least you can get is some ridiculous, gilded mirror.”

Ahmed blinked, eyes softening. _Oh._

But still, he couldn’t let her know how much this had touched his heart. She would know already, of course; she had always seen into his heart, had known more about his identity before even _he_ knew. Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t have to say it _out loud._

“You’re just jealous that you didn’t see it first,” he said with a teasing smirk. She, very maturely, stuck her tongue out at him.

“Keep that up and see if I buy it for you,” she cackled, pulling out her credit card and waving it in his face. “I’m only this nice once every forty years, so don’t waste it.”

She had kept her word. She hadn’t been _that_ nice to him since, but it was worth it. The mirror had been his prize for years, a symbol of his independence, of his victories. And now, he was able to use it to gaze into his beloved’s eyes and see the same frustrated, tired gaze that Fatima must have seen in his own eyes when he thought he could never have the mirror.

Ahmed’s mouth twitched into a small smirk at this thought. He hummed a small noise as he tapped his ring finger along his under-eye area, gently applying his nightly eye cream.

“Don’t worry, darling; I bought a spare for you just in case.” He used his foot to open one of the bottom drawers in the sink’s cabinet, revealing a whole extra toiletry bag he had hidden down there weeks ago.

“Oh,” Matt breathed out, looking down, touched. When his gaze met Ahmed’s again in the mirror, it looked a little shocked and gormless. “That’s so fuckin nice of you. But I still don’t have anything to wear to bed. Unless you were hoping I would sleep naked?”

Ahmed’s smile widened at the thought. As enticing as the idea was—truly, if he had his way, Matt would not only never leave, he would also be bare to the world forever, eternally open for Ahmed’s gaze to drink in at will—he was prepared for this as well.

“Far be it from me to say ‘no’ to your nudity, but I did purchase a few backup sleep sets for you a while back.” After carefully patting in face serum, he returned Matt’s look in the mirror. “You never told me your fabric preference so there is one satin and one velvet. I’m fairly certain that I got your size correct, but if I didn’t? I suppose we’ll both have to suffer you sleeping in the nude.”

Matt’s mouth seemed stuck on open, like a little lever had broken somewhere. It took him several moments before he could use his voice again.

“You. You made me a place here.”

This startled a full-body laugh from Ahmed. He put the lid back on his tub of moisturizer, turned and took the few steps that separated them, until he could tilt his face up toward Matt’s to meet his gaze.

“Butterfly, I didn’t make you _a_ place here.The entire place is yours, if you want it. Anything you desire. I want you to feel that your place is here, with me.”

Something crumbled in Matt’s face, and for a moment Ahmed panicked, heart beating a wild rhythm in his tight chest. Was this the moment? Had he gone too far? He was sure that this would come to an end one day; he couldn’t possibly keep a creature this fantastic, this perfect as his own. He had just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. He would give anything for just a little more time with him, and he hoped, desperately, that Matt couldn’t see the way he began to tremble at just the thought that it might be over.

But then, from the crumbled brokenness of Matt’s face bloomed determination. His gorgeous, large hands encircled Ahmed’s jaw, and he leaned down, dipping gently into Ahmed’s space to bring their mouths together.

Ahmed thought, at first, that it was a simple thank you, a token of appreciation. A quick acknowledgment, _oh, thank you, this forethought is quite nice._ He assumed that the night would end as soft and warm as it had been prior to this, some cuddling in bed and a promise of working anew the next day. The gentle rippling of a creek, solidly, softly bubbling along.

But instead, Matt turned into a flood, waters overtaking the riverbanks as his mouth plunged and laid waste to Ahmed’s. He was only too happy to submit, surprised moans breaking through the barrier of their connected mouths to sound desperate in his own ears. And he was, wasn’t he? Desperate, greedy, wanton. If he was a riverbank, he would be only too happy to be decimated, swept away completely by the force of Matt’s affection.

When he pulled back it was only for a moment, to stare wild-eyed into Ahmed’s surprised gaze.

“You,” Matt growled, low, eyes racing everywhere on Ahmed’s face.

“Me?”

“You,” Matt whispered, closing the gap again, like he couldn’t live if they were disconnected for more than a few moments at the time. Ahmed knew the feeling, he knew it too well.

Matt’s grip went from his jaw to the back of his head, gently maneuvering the tilt of their mouths just how he needed it. Matt was a genius, a certified IQ that had to be off the chart, and Ahmed would _definitely_ be looking into a MENSA application for his boyfriend after they were done but now, _now_ all he could do was let out whining, desperate, relieved noises as the new angle allowed Matt the exact access he needed to map out Ahmed’s mouth. He was a cartographer of every ridge, an explorer of every centimeter, a dreadful pirate come to lay waste and take everything he wanted. And Ahmed would give it, would give every ounce of himself up, gladly, fully.

Not that he was still or passive, himself. Ahmed’s fingers gripped at Matt’s curls, finally growing out long enough to tug at in a way that made Matt shiver and move even closer. Ahmed’s heart soared at the feeling, remembering the first time he had seen this incredibly, perplexing, intriguing man, and had near-immediately wondered how the length of his hair would feel between his own fingers. He knew, now. Knew the texture, the give, the exact way Matt’s curls felt when he was desperately dragging his face in closer between his legs. He throbbed, now, suddenly aching, desperate to be full after just a few kisses.

When Matt finally disconnected their mouths with a gasp, he wasted no time, moving from rigorously mapping the back of Ahmed’s molars to traversing every inch of his jawline, grip still tight on the back of Ahmed’s neck.

“You,” Ahmed gasped, a small huff of a laugh underneath it.

“No,” Matt whispered, tugging his head just a little more, just where he needed it, to bite down in just the right way that made Ahmed’s knees buckle. Noticing this, Matt steered them carefully to the counter, until Ahmed was leaning back against it, half-sitting on it. Matt looked at him then, gaze both manic and carrying with it some frightening degree of clarity, as if he could see the entire past, present and future and was afraid of none of it. Ahmed couldn’t help but tremble under this a little, jaw tightening, eyes scanning back and forth between Matt’s.

“No?”

“No. You’re so fucking good to me, baby. _So. Fucking. Good._ You take care of me so well.” Matt’s hands were roaming now, rubbing strong, firm strokes along his sides. Ahmed had taken off his work shirt when he got home but had not yet changed for bed, still in his work slacks and thin white undershirt. The drag of Matt’s hands, so desperate, so focused, had pushed his shirt up already. If Matt cared to look, he would be able to see from his exposed skin, exposed emotions the rapid way Ahmed’s abs were already moving with his labored breath.

“I love taking care of you,” Ahmed whispered, staring at Matt’s red, wet mouth, looking incredibly enticing. He started to lean in to taste them again, but Matt pulled back slightly, grip tightening on Ahmed’s sides.

“I love it, too. But I want to take care of _you_ tonight. You’re not allowed to care about _my_ time at all, okay?”

Ahmed couldn’t help it; he let out a quiet whine, already trying to fight Matt’s grip and sway forward, get closer until he could take Matt’s mouth again and distract him from his silly ideas. He had gotten good at it, in time, had catalogued seemingly hundreds of ways to make Matt’s back arch and make his toes curl, and he was hungry to learn hundreds more.

“I hate it,” Ahmed whined, eyes finally meeting Matt’s again. His boyfriend huffed out a quick laugh, one hand moving to take Ahmed’s sharp jaw in his palm again. His eyes fluttered slightly, decidedly over the edge of being deliciously overwhelmed before anything had even truly _started._

“I know, baby. But do you trust me?”

He knew that Matt was being indulgent in this, playing into Ahmed’s pouty nature that he normally kept buried deep. He didn’t want to look too desperate and wanting in this way, too childish. It was too honest, showed his hand too well. He wanted what he _wanted,_ and he wanted to take Matt apart with just his tongue, not the other way around. This way could be too much, too revealing, too Ahmed for Matt to handle, too Ahmed for _Ahmed_ to handle.

But. Matt had asked so nicely.

Silently, pouting what he hoped was only a _very small_ amount, Ahmed nodded. Matt grinned and leaned in, rewarding this with several deep, achingly good kisses.

“Thank you, baby. Thank you for trusting me,” Matt murmured when he pulled away. He pressed a few short kisses to Ahmed’s nose, his chin, and then to the pout Ahmed made at this treatment.

He was going to vocalize his complaint–really, was the chin kiss necessary?–when Matt dropped to his knees, and Ahmed’s vision went dark around the edges. Fuck. Every time he did this Ahmed felt like he was going to pass out for a moment. The sight of him on his knees, the way he looked from this angle, completely reverent, completely at home? It made something unravel in Ahmed’s brain every single time. A surge of, _yes, he does this for me, he looks like he’s worshipping me._ Matt didn’t just look like it, he acted like it too, like he was only at home when he was kneeling at Ahmed’s feet. Maintaining eye contact but staying silent, Ahmed pushed this a little further, pulling his shirt off and staring down at his boyfriend, who breathed out the quietest, most broken _fuck_ at the sight, just like he always did.

Breathing a little heavy already, Matt’s fingers went to unbuckle Ahmed’s trousers, gently yet desperately pulling everything off until Ahmed was bare, leaning against the counter, head tilted a little as he gazed down. He could gain the upper hand again, probably.

“Fuck, you’re so handsome. So hot. So gorgeous,” Matt whispered, hands curled around Ahmed’s calves and squeezing. “How do you look so fucking good always?”

Ahmed smirked, shrugged a little. “Just trying to look good for you, Darling.”

“Fuck, baby, you don’t have to try, you’re just... _fuck,_ ” Matt whined, making Ahmed let out a small laugh. Matt picked up one of Ahmed’s legs, moving to throw it over his own shoulder, but Ahmed took the opportunity to fight his boyfriend’s plan, just a little. He was supposed to be accepting attention and pleasure, sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little control. He fought Matt’s grip gently but firmly, redirecting his foot to Matt’s chest and pushing down with firm pressure, until Matt fell back and caught himself on his hands. Ahmed kept his foot firmly on Matt’s chest, looking down with a daring gaze.

“Jesus’ holy cum on a Saltine cracker, you’re fucking _perfect_ ,” Matt whispered, entranced. Ahmed couldn’t help himself; he threw back his head and laughed loudly, the sound echoing and reverberating around the room.

“Butterfly, it’s a good thing neither of us are particularly attached to the Prophet Isa, or we might be struck down right now.”

“Your prophet, not mine,” Matt teased. “That bitch was _supposed_ to be one of ours but he defected, I guess.”

“Mmm. Take it up with God.”

“Oh I fucking will, but he better not take me before I can get my mouth on you. I wanna taste some fuckin paradise before I go to Paradise.”

“You do have a way with words, don’t you.”

Ahmed ran his foot gently up Matt’s chest, until Matt could duck forward and press kisses to the curve of his ankle. Ahmed sighed, pleased, letting up the pressure so Matt could begin to lean forward. He pressed hot, lazy kisses up Ahmed’s calf as he moved to his knees again, one hand drifting slowly up Ahmed’s outturned leg. He only stopped when he reached Ahmed’s knee, barely moving except to turn his face up, meeting Ahmed’s gaze, mouth still open, wet, bottom lip dragging lightly against the beginning of the soft skin of his inner thigh.

“Are you gonna let me worship you, baby?”

All that power Ahmed had worked to regain seemed to flow out of his body immediately. He felt liquid, like he would collapse against the counter, molten gold to paint the mirror anew. Instead he blinked, took a deep breath, and managed two words without shaking.

“You may.”

It only took a few moments from there. He finally allowed Matt to lift one leg over his shoulder, hands wrapping around Ahmed’s thighs, pressing in closer and–there. He wasn’t embarrassed at the noise that ripped out of him when Matt finally got his mouth on him, tongue greedily drinking in his “taste of paradise.” Out of the dozens of people he had allowed to do this, nobody had ever been so voracious as Matt, so eager, so happy to be granted access. It was intoxicating, truly, the way he threw himself into the honor and the privilege of running his tongue between Ahmed’s folds, of lovingly curling around Ahmed’s swollen cock that had been throbbing from the first kiss in the bathroom.

He choked out a sob and let his own hands go to those curls, grasping and holding on like he’d fall over if he didn’t. Matt moaned around Ahmed’s dick at this, fingers gripping tighter on Ahmed’s thighs as he doubled down, tongue moving even faster, even more greedily. After this build up, it was hardly surprising how worked up he already felt, thighs tightening and breath coming so quickly, so shallowly. He was practically panting as he looked down at the delicious sight, a head of dark hair held tight between his legs, his own fingers going almost white at the pressure, his leg draped gracefully over those strong shoulders. It was artful, it was a live-motion painting of utopia, it was the birth and death of the universe all at once in just the way Matt rhythmically curled his tongue, waves and waves of worship.

Ahmed uncurled his fingers and fell back, finally leaning fully onto the mirror. Matt pulled back for a moment to make sure he was okay, grinning up at him, looking rightfully proud. He rested his head in the crook of Ahmed’s thigh, moving one hand to keep steady circles going over Ahmed’s cock.

“You okay up there baby?”

“Mmhm,” Ahmed whimpered, trying and failing miserably to have some measure of composure. He knew his chest was heaving, he knew he was flushed and splotchy and sweaty. He could only hope that he still looked enticing to Matt the way that Matt looked endlessly enticing to him. Especially right now, lips and chin glistening under the fluorescent bathroom lights.

“I love sucking you.”

“Mmhm.”

“I love having you in my mouth, I love being surrounded by you.”

“Mm,” Ahmed agreed, his hips moving unconsciously, chasing the movement of Matt’s thumb.

“Are you going to cum for me? Are you going to cum on my face?”

“If you get back down there, yes,” Ahmed managed through clenched teeth. Matt laughed loudly, gleefully at this, looking impossibly prouder. Ahmed narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend, this cheeky fucking _bastard_ who only made it _worse_ by giving little nipping bites to Ahmed’s shaking thighs. He took his time, thumb slowed to a crawl, teeth biting soft, too-light, too-little, a lazy trail back to where Ahmed desperately needed his mouth to be. It’s _not enough._

“Matthew, Darling, I swear to the prophet who is neither yours nor mine–”

Matt’s laugh is muffled against Ahmed’s thigh, and for a moment he contemplated kicking him again, pushing him away and just finishing himself off, but then, _finally,_ paradise was restored to them both. The prize for Ahmed’s waning, sure, but thin veneer of patience was so perfect it had his back bowed, fingers scrambling for purpose on the counter, head tilted back against the mirror. Matt was proving his words and his intentions, sucking pressure and flicking in the pointed way he’d learned would get Ahmed over the edge. He didn’t move his hand too far, just slightly down, pumping two fingers inside for a delicious, perfect drag.

It was perfect. He was perfect.

It wasn’t long before Matt got his wish, Ahmed’s first orgasm hitting him in crazy-making waves. When he regained vision and hearing, he uncurled his leg, which had–apparently–clenched to practically smother Matt against himself.

“Oh, Darling, I’m sorry–” he started to apologize, but Matt was looking up at him with the darkest, most pleased eyes he had ever seen. Now free, he leaned back on his haunches, one hand mindlessly grabbing at his erection.

“Don’t be, fuck, that was fucking _awesome,”_ he sighed, bringing his wet fingers to his mouth to clean them up. Ahmed clenched again at the sight, suddenly greedy for those fingers. He felt insane, needy, and he needed to redirect it. He tried to pose himself gracefully, with as much dignity as he could muster when well-fucked and sweaty, smirking in the way he knew could drive Matt crazy when well-executed.

“Is it your turn now, Butterfly?”

Matt laughed around his own fingers, looking incredulous. He pulled them out with a _pop,_ shoulders shaking with confused laughter. “Are you shitting me? No. Definitely not.”

Ahmed’s smirk dropped, and his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I’m not done worshipping you, dummy. I have a lot of ideas left.”

Ahmed huffed out an annoyed breath, orgasm having apparently wiped out his ability to maneuver social situations like he normally could. “You’ve done plenty. You’ve been wonderful. You’ve been _delightful._ You’ve certainly done enough. I don’t know why you need to in the first place, I’m perfectly happy to–”

His mouth was quieted by Matt’s, who had rolled his eyes and risen to stop this rant before it had enough steam. Ahmed had seen it coming, had thought for a moment about how to control it, but he was a weak, weak man. He wanted the kisses more than he wanted to be right, he wanted to taste Matt again, get his hands on him, thank him with his body more than he needed to have the final word.

They kissed for so many long moments, Ahmed’s bare legs wrapped around Matt’s waist, Ahmed’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. God but he loved those shoulders, the way they contained so much more strength than they appeared to have, the way they could curve around Ahmed’s body, could be the butterfly wings he somehow, impossibly didn’t have in real life. Matt kissed him, long, lazily, tongues gracefully stroking in a _pas de deux,_ until he had forgotten why he was annoyed in the first place and perhaps even what his own name was.

“Why are you so good to me,” he breathed out between their mouths, mindlessly. Matt didn’t respond to it so calmly, so thoughtlessly as Ahmed had.

“What?”

“Hmm?” Ahmed blinked, feeling almost drunk. Had he said something unusual?

“You don’t know why I’m good to you?”

“I know one very important thing, Butterfly,” Ahmed said, mind grasping desperately for a gambit.

“Oh?” Matt said, looking skeptical. “What’s that?”

“I know that you are wearing far too many clothes right now. Tragic, really.”

Matt smiled and took a step back, keeping his eyes on Ahmed’s as he stripped slowly, lazily. The speed was both delicious, letting Ahmed take in each new piece of exposed skin at a time, and also tortuously slow, keeping them from touching far longer than was optimal. When he was finally undressed, he put his arms out in a little “ta da” motion, pulling a reluctant smile from Ahmed.

“Better?”

“Much. Infinitely better. If it were up to me you would never wear a stitch of clothing.”

“Coolio,” Matt huffed, rolling his eyes. “So?”

“Hm?”

“So do you _not_ know why I’m good to you?”

Ahmed felt stuck, exposed, ironically even moreso when they _weren’t_ actively having sex than the moments they were.

“You like me,” he decided on, finally. He tilted his chin up slightly, daring Matt to fight him on it.

“Yeah I fuckin hope so, dude,” Matt said. He hadn’t moved any closer, had just crossed his arms, somehow managing to look believably defiant and in-control despite the very obvious, very red erection standing up from between his legs. “We’re boyfriends. I _hope_ that I like you.”

“Isn’t that sufficient enough explanation?”

“Is it?” Matt laughed humorlessly. “Baby, tell me, if somebody asked why you’re good to me, would you stop at ‘I like him’? Or would you have a shit ton more to say?”

Ahmed blinked, brain quietly running through the steps he had taken to hide his journal before Matt came over. No, he was sure there was no way Matt could have found it.

“I suppose I might have a few additional details to add. Perhaps.”

Matt laughed, expression breaking open and softening. “I know you, dude. You would talk their fuckin ear off for a whole ass hour and then wonder why they’re running away.”

“Hm. They’re a fool, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, rolling his eyes, but with an expression so heartbreakingly fond. “ _They’re_ the fool.”

“There’s no accounting for taste, Darling.”

“Apparently,” Matt said, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “Hey, handsome, do me a favor. Come here. Stand in front of me.”

Ahmed was suspicious. Matt clearly had some scheme, something he wanted to prove, and he had a feeling that it would come at his own expense. But, unfortunately, he had signed his soul away and taken on the delightful burden to do whatever it took to make this man happy. So he slid off the counter as gracefully as possible and took the few steps forward it took to stand face-to-face with Matt. He then took one additional step, until they were chest to chest, body heat sizzling between then, and looked up at Matt through his eyelashes, a trick that had never before failed to make the other man putty in his hands.

“Am I where you want me, Darling?”

“Hn,” Matt wheezed, losing composure for a millisecond. He blinked, hardened his eyes and poked a finger into Ahmed’s chest. “Hey! Don’t distract me.”

“Do you find me distracting?”

“I find you a shit ton of things. So many things. Things!” Matt said, literally pointedly, poking his finger into Ahmed’s chest with each sentence. He startled when Ahmed took his finger and raised it up, tantalizingly close to his own mouth. Ahmed made an acknowledging noise, letting his breath fan out onto Matt’s hand to remind him of the warm, silky wetness he was missing out on.

“Oh? Like what?” He held Matt’s hand close, palm and fingers curling helplessly now, and let Matt’s still-outstretched pointer finger pull gently at his own lower lip. He had barely taken the tip of the finger inside his mouth, tongue just beginning to curl around it, when Matt snatched his hand back.

“No! Bad boyfriend! Bad!” he said in his best attempt at a commanding voice, hand cradled protectively into his own chest. Ahmed narrowed his eyes, chin tilting up again. Might as well pull out one more trick to distract him.

“Darling, are you asking me to get the collar out? I can be your puppy if you just ask.”

Matt’s eye twitched, which was a very fascinating movement Ahmed had not seen him make before. Unfortunately, he was so distracted by considering the implications, that he was wholly unprepared for what happened next.

“Baby. I just want you to be yourself. That’s all.” He brought his hands up to cup Ahmed’s jaw again, so much like their first moments in the bathroom earlier, but excruciatingly more sincere. “I _love_ having sex with you. It’s fucking great. It’s the best times I’ve ever had, fucking, _ever._ But it’s not worth it if you’re just trying to do or be what you think I want you to be. I would give it up forever if you were just yourself instead.”

It was too much, too exposed, too honest, too close to the truth. Ahmed blinked, hoping to all the prophets he both did and did not believe in that he wouldn’t cry. Not now.

The prophets, thankfully, chose to have mercy on him. Matt dipped down, gently, to bring their lips together in a long, chaste kiss. Ahmed chose to pretend that he couldn’t taste the sadness on Matt’s lips.

Hands circled his waist, and then he was being turned to face the mirror. He flinched at the sight, could read so clearly on his own expression all of his discomfort, his unease, his insecurities. Matt guided them both closer to the counter, slowly, until he was standing right behind Ahmed, rendering him unable to escape the rapidly-approaching waking nightmare of being Known.

“What do you see?”

Ahmed huffed, annoyed, but tried his best. He could see himself, splotchy, hair in disarray, appearance that he so carefully managed and curated and _controlled_ all blown away to nothingness. This was the real him, the aching, desperate, embarrassing truth of him. Scars under his pecs, proof that he had once been wronged in such a fundamental way. Too small in some places, too wide in others. Too much hair here, not enough hair there. Every single uneven flaw where he failed to be symmetric stared back at him, mocking him, screaming that he would never be perfect.

“I see me, and I see you behind me. Is that sufficient? Can it be your turn now?”

Matt slapped him on the ass, fairly lightly, but enough to sting for a moment.

“You aren’t trying,” Matt laughed. Ahmed started to try to turn, to fight back, but Matt kept his grip on his hips firm and gave the back of his ear a sharp tug, making him gasp. This exasperating, uncontrollable, utter _annoyance_ of a man was behaving infuriatingly unpredictably, and the worst of it was that Ahmed found it aggravatingly sexy. He took in a deep breath, and tried again.

“I see me, a man, who will be continually trying his best, and yet that will somehow never be good enough, will it?”

Matt’s expression in the mirror broke a little at this. He moved one hand up from Ahmed’s hips to hold over Ahmed’s chest, over his rapidly-beating heart. “Is that really what you see?”

Ahmed was silent for a moment, before declaring with conviction, staunchly defiant, “Yes. That is my truth.”

Matt blew out a frustrated breath, shocking and cold against Ahmed’s neck. “God. That fuckin sucks, huh.”

“It’s what you wanted!”

“No, baby. Not at all. I want you to see yourself the way I see you.”

Ahmed’s eyes narrowed at Matt’s reflection, their gazes heated in a way they normally didn’t with each other. Things had been so smooth, so frictionless. It was his own fault for letting his control slip, for letting Matt begin to see the depth of his emotions. For letting Matt finally perceive how much effort had gone into being his idea of Matt’s perfect boyfriend. A part of him wanted to run, to give up, to find a way to be peaceful with the idea that they had enjoyed _some_ time together and it would have to be _enough._ To live with the knowledge that he had ruined everything purely by being himself.

“Fine. Darling, what do you see?”

Matt’s voice broke as he whispered, directly into Ahmed’s ear, “perfection.”

Ahmed turned his neck quickly, wanting to look Matt directly in the eyes, only to be met with Matt’s lips, his hand moving from Ahmed’s chest to Ahmed’s jaw, keeping him in place, not letting him escape from what was the most achingly romantic, impassioned, affecting kiss of his entire life. It was everything, all at once, everything he had ever felt and ever would feel, poured into the simple press of lips. But it wasn’t that simple, was it? It was much more; it was the opening of themselves to one another, the careful, brave opening of a door to let somebody in.

And so, Ahmed surrendered. For a moment, yes, but also for an eternity, to this. To him.

In return, Matt accepted him, all of him. He held him so carefully, with such reverence, that it truly did feel like being worshipped. Matt knew what he was doing, knew the responsibility he was accepting, and he did it with his heart open, welcoming, and his mouth open, giving.

Every slide of Matt’s lips was heaven, every press of his tongue was like dying and being reborn. Ahmed felt desperate, suddenly, aching in a way he hadn’t before. Uncalculated, purely instinctual, chasing his lips, never wanting to let go, never wanting this to end. His heart stuttered out the most fervent prayer it had ever known: _please, let time stop. Let me live in this perfect moment, with him, forever. Let it always be like this._

When the moment ended, it wasn’t to destruction or disappointment. It was with a wet gasp, his eyes closing and his mouth disconnecting in shock at the press of Matt’s fingers to his swollen dick, stroking firmly.

“You’re perfect, baby, you’re so perfect,” Matt whispered into his ear. Ahmed shivered at the feeling, wanting to fight it, but not wanting to run from Matt. “Look at yourself.”

He waited a few beats, wanting to be stubborn, to have some control. Matt tugged on Ahmed’s ear with his own teeth, chidingly, and Ahmed begrudgingly opened his eyes, finally.

He knew he was supposed to be looking at himself, but how could he when Matt was right there in the mirror, looking at him? They both looked so hungry, so far gone for one another, that it made him ache. As long as Matt was busy letting his eyes roam all across Ahmed’s body in the mirror, Ahmed felt he was right to stare at Matt’s. The deeply erotic flex in his forearm with every stroke, the twitch of the veins in his arm and on his hands as he circled, stroked and flicked against Ahmed. The wildness in his eyes, so determined and single-minded, like Matt considered it his life’s greatest goal to make Ahmed cum as many times as humanly possible and he would achieve this or die trying. It felt wrong, incongruent, that Matt could look at _Ahmed_ in the mirror and feel like this, see perfection, but it would also be wrong to stop him when he was so _good_ at it.

“God you look so fucking amazing,” Matt groaned, breath hot on Ahmed’s neck. He shivered, both at Matt’s words and the sight of his arm flexing. His other hand had been gripping Ahmed’s hips–where he was sure there were fingerprint-sizes bruises forming at this point, a beautiful museum collection of proof that Matt desired him, wanted him–but now it was roaming, racing trails up and down his torso, squeezing him back against Matt’s chest and grabbing whatever looked especially good to him.

“You do, it’s you, you’re the amazing one,” Ahmed managed between little hiccuping gasps. He had reached the sensitivity level where everything felt both toomuch and notenough, where he wanted to lean into the touches and also away, where he felt like if he didn’t cum again soon he would die.

“I can’t fuckin believe you can’t see yourself,” Matt whined, grabbing Ahmed’s pec in his hand. “God, you have such a gorgeous chest. Your fucking collarbones are gorgeous. Your goddamn elegant ass neck. Your jaw, fuck, I want you to cut me with it. Your hips? Your back dimples? The shape of your thighs? God, your fucking legs _kill_ me, they just _kill_ me.”

“No,” Ahmed started to laugh. “It’s just me.”

“Exactly, baby, it’s _you._ I fuckin love your body.” Matt pressed himself closer, letting his erection slide enticingly along Ahmed’s back. “Can’t you feel how much I love it? You make me like this. Only you.”

“You like my body because I make you feel good,” Ahmed huffed out. His hips were twitching now, chasing after Matt’s touch. God, he was starting to feel it, the desperate emptiness, thinking about how good it would feel to be full up. The drag of Matt’s cock with every circle was making him feel insane. If only he could move the right way, slide it in himself, get what he needed, maybe then his brain would work a little better.

“You’re so wrong, you’re so fucking wrong,” Matt laughed against the back of Ahmed’s neck, the sound muffled and endearing. He moved his lips then to right along the shell of Ahmed’s ear, his next sounds so soft, but so passionate, just the noise pushed Ahmed closer to the edge. “I love your body because it’s _yours._ This body keeps you alive. This body pumps your blood. This body keeps your gorgeous fucking brain safe. I don’t love your body for what it does, I love it for who it’s a part of.”

“Matthew, please,” Ahmed whimpered. He didn’t know what he was asking for, or why, but Matt seemed to. He watched in the mirror as Matt’s eyes flashed in determination. His hand sped up, arm flexing wildly, his other hand pressed tight against Matt’s chest, fingers splayed just under his throat, the lightest, best pressure he had ever felt.

“I’ve got you baby.” His voice was rough now, in a way Ahmed almost never got to hear it. It was taking on that desperate, pointed quality, thick from the effort of his fingers flying against Ahmed’s aching cock. Ahmed loved it, he loved _him._ “I’m gonna give you what you need. I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good. Me. You won’t ever need anybody else, you won’t even be able to think of anybody else, not when I’m here to do this for you. I would do it all day every day if you needed it, never stop touching you, never stop making you feel good. Would you like that, baby? Would you like me, forever?”

Tragically, it was the word “forever” that did it. The final thought that pushed him over, gave him the blissed-out ability to soar, was the idea of forever. He knew that this should be embarrassing, that it gave too much away, but maybe it was worth the risk. It could be worth the risks, if he could have this, always, forever.

Ahmed had barely caught his breath again, vision having just returned when Matt slid all the way into him, bottoming out in one movement, punching the breath out of both of them.

“Your turn now?” Ahmed gasped between his strokes, breath hissing at every peak. Matt’s answering laugh was shaky, breath hitting wetly against Ahmed’s ear.

“Baby, the whole _thing_ has been my turn.”

“Oh _fuck,”_ he breathed out, laughter coming out of him in huffs. “We’re the same.”

“Service switch for service switch,” Matt giggled. He moved his hands, until one was grasping over Ahmed’s on the edge of the counter, holding it tight. His other moved back between Ahmed’s legs, drawing out a stuttering gasp as Matt’s thumb moved in gentle circles over his oversensitive, twitching cock.

“This is torture,” Ahmed moaned, meaning none of it. From the look on Matt’s face in the mirror, he hadn’t succeeded in fooling him at all.

“I’m sure,” he responded, hips snapping back rougher, faster, drawing more broken noises from Ahmed’s lips. “Really fuckin sucks to get fucked so good, huh.”

“A true burden,” Ahmed agreed with a nod. “I suffer every day at your hands.” Not to be outdone, he gave pulsing squeezes on Matt’s upstroke, grinning triumphantly in the mirror when it caused his rhythm to stutter.

“Fuck, baby, you can’t just let me have this?” Matt’s eyes were dancing, so delightfully happy in the reflection.

“Of course not,” Ahmed gasped, tilting his head to let Matt drag wet, open-mouthed kisses up his neck. “I have to make you feel good.”

“You do.”

“So do you.”

“You.”

“You.”

They looked insane, Ahmed was sure, two grinning buffoons in the middle of sex, fighting to make the other one happier. He was also sure that no two people had ever been better matched, more right for each other, in the history of the world, and that nobody else could ever top them. They were the apex.

“I think this is it,” he whimpered, trying to stay steady despite Matt’s increasingly erratic thrusts, focusing on squeezing in time with them. “We’re gonna always be trying to one-up each other in bed. Be this crazy forever.”

“Forever, huh?” Matt said, placing a quick bite on the back of Ahmed’s neck. He moved both of his hands to Ahmed’s hips, grip even more bruising as he fucked into Ahmed at a furious pace. They were both desperate, both insane. “I don’t hate the sound of forever.”

“Sounds good,” Ahmed nodded. He brought one of his own hands between his legs, first to feel where they were connected, fingers opening slippery around Matt’s cock as it pounded into him, and then trailing up to jerk himself off. “Feels good, too.”

“Feels real fucking good. We should do this in front of the mirror more often.”

“Love this mirror,” Ahmed nodded, insanely, feeling so close, again. It was close, but just out of his reach, and he groaned in frustration.

“Please baby, please, I want us to cum together, and I’m so close.”

“I can’t,” Ahmed sobbed out, desperately wanting it, but worried it would always be out of his reach. He locked eyes with Matt in the mirror, crazed gaze meeting crazed gaze. “You do it, just you.”

“Fuck that.” Matt’s laugh was choked out, too loud. “You’re gonna cum for me.”

“I–”

“Cum for me, Ahmed.”

He had been practicing. His name from Matt’s lips, the right way, perfect, the way a native-Arabic speaker would. It was honey, it was manna in the desert, it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. It was enough.

They crashed together, hunched over the sink as their orgasms slammed into their bodies. It was so much, so much of everything. Matt had moved his hands to grasp both of Ahmed’s, fingers slipping together, a small, tender embrace amidst the carnality of it all.

They watched each other in the mirror as they came down from their orgasms. Matt kept pressing small kisses to the top of Ahmed’s head, and Ahmed pressed into each one. Their eyes didn’t leave each other, couldn’t; they both knew that the minute they did, the spell would be broken. Whatever had just happened would be a memory, and Ahmed didn’t want that. He wanted this to be everything, forever. _Forever._

God, forever.

“You should move in. With me. Let this be your home. Please.”

He watched in the mirror as the beautiful, tender, soft reflection of his beloved shone with a new light. It might have been a trick of the light–it almost certainly was, of course, he couldn’t kid himself, shouldn’t–but for a moment Ahmed could let himself believe that Matt loved him, too, just as achingly, as purely as he loved Matt. Just as forever.

“Fuck yeah. I would _love_ to.”


End file.
